


Before It's Too Late

by skyler_press



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Possessive Derek, Protective Derek, Victim Blaming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-07
Updated: 2014-08-09
Packaged: 2018-02-12 04:06:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2095092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skyler_press/pseuds/skyler_press
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Stiles goes on a date with an older guy, he doesn't expect to find himself fighting for his safety. Luckily, there's an Alpha with perfect timing.</p>
<p>Or</p>
<p>The one where Derek saves Stiles from being sexually assaulted ... and admits a few things as a result.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! New author here! I hope you don't mind that I'm wading into the Teen Wolf fandom. This is the first of my work that's actually fan fiction. I don't know why, but I'm more nervous posting this than I usually am with my professional stuff! I think it's because I know how fierce and loyal we are to our fandoms!
> 
> In any case, I hope you enjoy this little story. I had to get something up as I'm taking part in an auction (details to come at the end of the story). I apologize, I just wanted to get this out so it's unbeta'd. All mistakes (and I'm sure there are several) are my own!
> 
> Unfortunately, Stiles, Derek, and Teen Wolf do not belong to me. I'm just playing for fun, not profit. The OMC is mine ... but you can have him if you want. He's a jerk.
> 
> Please read the warnings. If I've missed any please let me know!

“Uh, dude, where are we going?” Stiles asks as they miss the turn for the theatre. He’s on his third date with Caleb, a sophomore at the University of Nevada. Caleb isn’t originally from Beacon Hills, he’s out visiting his aunt for the summer, helping her with her health food store instead of moving all the way back to the east coast just for the couple months between semesters.

They met just over a week ago when Stiles had gone into the health food store to pick up some vitamins for his dad. He had been wearing a tee referencing grumpy cat, which he thought was a brilliant representation of their Alpha, even though no one else in the pack seemed to get it. Caleb commented on it immediately, appreciating Stiles’ sense of humor despite missing the reference. It hadn’t mattered. They hit it off from there. If Stiles had returned to the health food store twice more that week to admire the hot new guy in town, then it was his own business. If said new hot guy just so happened to resemble the build, dark hair, and stubble of a certain Alpha werewolf, well, then it was merely coincidence.

During Stiles’ third visit, when he bought the same product for the third time, Caleb finally asked him out on a date.

The first date had been a slam dunk. They’d gone bowling. I mean, who doesn’t like bowling? All that heavy lifting of balls, the bending over when throwing the balls, the high fiving? _Awesome._ On the second date, they went to a baseball game. The home team lost, but they had a blast bad-mouthing the lousy players and razzing the ump. Tonight, they had already gone to dinner at the oldest diner in town (with the _best_ curly fries in the county), and were now supposed to go see the latest Marvel movie.

But Caleb just missed the turn off. He’s still new to town, though, so maybe he doesn’t know the route from the diner to the theatre.

“We missed the turn off for the theatre,” Stiles says, jabbing his thumb towards the passenger side window as he looks to Caleb.

“I know,” Caleb replies, a smug smile planted firmly on his face as he turns to look at Stiles, giving him a wink. “I heard of a neat place. I thought we could check it out,” Caleb says, eyes back on the road. “If you still want to see the movie after, we could always catch the late show,” he suggests, taking a second to glance over to Stiles to see his reaction.

“Uh, yeah, okay,” Stiles says, smiling back. He’s cool, he can go with the flow. His curfew isn’t until 12:30am anyway. There will be plenty of time to see both the “neat place” and the movie. The “neat place” probably won’t take very long. Stiles is betting he’s seen wherever they’re going a million times, being a resident of Beacon Hills all his life. But hey, new people, new experiences. He’s up for that. They’ll be at the theater in plenty of time for the 10:00pm showing.

When Caleb turns onto a dirt road that heads north of town, Stiles can’t help the nervous roll of his stomach. He knows where this road leads to, and it’s only to one place. Looking out the passenger side window, Stiles watches as the trees pass by, biting his lip. He’s not sure whether to say something. They’re headed up to look-out point, which is notorious with kids his age as a make-out spot. Does Caleb know it’s a make-out hang-out? Is that why he’s bringing Stiles here? To make-out?

Stiles scoffs to himself internally. Of _course_ that couldn’t be Caleb’s intent. He probably just heard it was an awesome view of the city and wants to check it out. Caleb had been nothing but a gentleman on their previous two dates. The extent of their physical activity had been nothing more than guiding touches to the small of Stiles’ back or shoulder, or them lacing their hands together. At the end of the last date, when Stiles had been sure Caleb was making a move for a kiss, he had simply pecked Stiles’ cheek before saying goodnight. So no, Caleb probably just wants to check out the view.

It isn’t dark outside when they finally reach the pull out, but the sun has set, casting everything in deep blues and purples. No one else is up here, which doesn’t really surprise Stiles at all, it being a Tuesday.

Caleb stops his truck at the edge of the gravel, giving them a clear view out the front windshield of Beacon Hills below. Caleb whistles softly as he turns off the truck, leaning back in his seat with a smile on his face.

“That sure is something,” he says, giving a sidelong glance to Stiles. The lights of the city below are just starting to turn on, giving off a glow that will only get stronger as the night sky darkens.

Stiles smiles back at Caleb before looking out the front window once more, trying to take in the view as if he, too, is seeing it for the first time. It is pretty nice, if he’s honest. He can understand why people come here to make-out, it creates a nice ambiance.

“Do you come up here often?” Caleb asks, his eyes not leaving the front windshield.

“Ha, no,” Stiles replies lightly, shaking his head. “I mean, I’ve been up here a couple times during the day, mostly family trips and stuff.” The last time Stiles had been up here was the summer before his mother had passed. When he was a kid, they had come up at least once a summer, enjoying the picnic grounds and trails that were around. He and his dad hadn’t come back since his mother died. “I’ve never been up here at night though, it’s definitely a different perspective.”

“I find it surprising you haven’t been up here at night,” Caleb says, leaning an elbow on the centre console between him and Stiles, “isn’t this where the kids come to make-out?” There’s a coyness to his tone that has Stiles’ eyebrows shooting up. Okay, so maybe Caleb’s intention of coming out here wasn’t just for the view.

Stiles can feel his cheeks flushing hot, the nervous twinge in his gut now turning to aggressive butterflies. He tries to laugh off his nerves, but it sounds awkward, even to him.

“Nah,” Stiles replies after a moment, shrugging a shoulder in an attempt at nonchalance. He looks out towards the city again. “I’m not exactly what you would call dating material in Beacon Hills.”

“They’re idiots,” Caleb says with a reverence that has Stiles looking at him, trying to determine whether Caleb is playing him. “C’mere,” Caleb murmurs, leaning further over the console towards Stiles. Stiles hesitates for a second, heart suddenly in his throat.

When Stiles doesn’t move, Caleb reaches forward, lightly grasping the front of Stiles’ shirt between his forefinger and thumb and pulling Stiles gently towards him. Stiles’ body goes tense as his mind whirls into a blind panic, not sure of what to do. While he’s had the occasional kiss in the past, it wasn’t _making-out_ , and it sure as hell wasn’t _with a guy_.

Stiles tries desperately not to spazz out as he’s pulled in towards Caleb, his eyes locked on Caleb’s lips as he’s drawn nearer. He has just enough time to take in a shuddering breath before their lips are touching. At first, it’s nothing more than a mere graze, but once Caleb realizes Stiles isn’t going to pull away, he leans into the kiss a little more. He takes easy control, bringing his hand up to help angle Stiles’ chin so their mouths can slot together.

Stiles can’t help being tense at the start, too afraid to move or do anything to ruin the moment. But after a handful of seconds, when Caleb deepens the kiss, Stiles can actually feel himself relaxing, allowing Caleb to work against his mouth, trying to keep up and follow the older boy’s lead. The nervous butterflies have been released from his stomach, fluttering up into his lungs. The excitement of the new experience, of feeling wanted, has his chest constricting uncomfortably.

They continue to make out for a while, Caleb humming appreciatively when his tongue finally makes it into Stiles’ mouth, his strong hand wandering from Stiles’ jaw, to his hair, to his neck and back again. The kissing has gradually turned from seeking and hesitant to hungry and desperate. Stiles is breathless, and after a particularly sharp nip from Caleb to his lower lip, he pulls back slightly with a gasp, panting heavily against Caleb’s mouth.

“Sorry,” Caleb whispers, snaking a hand to the back of Stiles’ neck, pulling Stiles back in. He captures the teen’s wet, swollen lips once again. Caleb’s other hand, which has been idle through most of the experience is now on Stiles’ hip, squeezing firmly before wandering to the front of Stiles’ jeans and cupping him firmly.

Stiles can’t help the jerk of his hips at the contact. No one else has ever touched him there before. It causes a flair that spreads from his groin up into his gut. Whether it’s from excitement or nerves, Stiles can’t tell. Maybe both. Not only is he rounding first base, but it looks like he’s going to make it to second! Maybe it’s happening a little faster than he expected, but it is more action than Stiles ever expected to see while still in high school.

Fumbling slightly, Stiles tries to find the best place to put his hands. He first thinks he should return the favor and start paying attention to Caleb’s groin area, but quickly realizes he’s not comfortable with that yet. So he rests one hand on Caleb’s shoulder and the other on his chest, grasping Caleb’s t-shirt as he tries to hold onto his composure. Caleb is definitely experienced in the art of kissing, easily winding Stiles up with flicks of his tongue, the slick slide of his lips, and the heat of his breath.

Distracted by Caleb’s mouth and his own excitement, Stiles doesn’t even process the button of his jeans being popped open and the zipper being pulled down until after the fact. The second his mind catches up, and he realizes he’s being undressed, he feels the heat of Caleb’s palm against his erection, the cotton of his boxer-briefs the only barrier between them now.

They need to slow down. A worry is niggling at the back of Stiles’ mind when he realizes he can’t keep up with the pace, that he’s losing a touch of awareness. Pushing against Caleb’s chest, Stiles breaks the kiss, ducking his head slightly. Before he can even form words to ask for a break, Caleb’s leaning even closer, nipping at Stiles ear before whispering hotly against it.

“I wanna fuck you.”

Stiles stiffens. Hold on, wait – what? How did they go from making out and copping a feel to full out sex? That is not even on the playing field. Not tonight. Not for several nights. Make that weeks, at least. Sure, he finds Caleb hot, and thinks he’s pretty cool from the time they’ve spent together already. Yet, while Stiles desperately wants to lose his virginity (yay, sexy times!), it isn’t going to be to a guy he’s known for just over a week. And it definitely isn’t going to happen at the Mache speed they’re pacing. Where was the fun in experimenting? What about more kissing? More exploring? Hell, how about a hand job first? Giving or receiving, he isn’t picky.

Stiles pulls back, causing Caleb to pause as Stiles searches Caleb’s face. Is he serious? Stiles is expecting a “just joking” or “gotcha!”, but when Caleb just holds his stare, Stiles swallows thickly, a blush staining his cheeks.

“What? Now?” Stiles asks carefully. Caleb huffs out a laugh, a sly smile pulling at his lips.

“Yeah,” Caleb answers, “but maybe that’s a little too fast for you?”

Stiles lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

“Yeah, a little,” Stiles concedes, allowing Caleb to pull him close again, Caleb’s stubble burning against his cheek and neck as he nuzzles against him. “This is nice though,” Stiles sighs once the tension starts to seep out of him at Caleb’s gentle ministrations.

Caleb’s hand, the one that’s still in Stiles’ pants, starts to pick back up, slowly massaging and fondling him. With the intensity of Stiles’ arousal being knocked back a bit by the shock of Caleb’s words, the touch feels weird now. Not painful, not exciting, just … weird. Maybe that will go away if he focuses on getting back into it.

The kissing begins slowly again, Caleb taking the time to start back at square one. While Stiles’ reaction isn’t as immediate as the first time, he does slowly find himself responding again, feeling arousal curl low in his gut. Feeling his erection growing again, Stiles lets out a breathy moan, which has Caleb moaning in turn.

Caleb’s kisses trail down Stiles’ jawline to his neck, lapping and nipping at the skin there as his thumb rubs firmly against Stiles’ bottom lip.

“C’mon baby, let me fuck you,” Caleb murmurs between kisses, “even if it’s just your mouth.”

This time, a red flag shoots up in Stiles’ mind.

Stiles’ whole body goes rigid again before trying to pull back away, any excitement that had been building in his gut quickly turning sour with wariness. This guy is persistent. He’s persistent, bigger and older than Stiles, with his hand down Stiles’ pants, while they’re alone out in the woods.

Stiles fights to breathe over the panic starting to tighten in his chest.

_Oh God, I’m an idiot._

“I – I think I’m good tonight, thanks,” Stiles responds with a crack in his voice, clearing his throat before continuing. “How about we go catch that movie?” Anything to get them back into civilization. Into _public._ Stiles would feel better if they were in public right now, then he could look back at this experience and laugh at possibly blowing this out of proportion.

When he feels Caleb’s hand continue to knead him inside his pants, and Caleb’s teeth nip painfully at his neck, the panic builds, sending his heartbeat into an escalated rhythm.

“C’mon, Stiles, don’t be a tease. You’re totally into this, too,” Caleb states, leaning further over the console, pressing more of his body weight up against Stiles.

“I was,” Stiles mumbles, trying to extract Caleb’s hands from his body. “I think it’s time to go back to town.” Caleb resists Stiles’ attempts at displacing him, his grip on Stiles’ package tightening in retaliation, pulling a gasp from the teen. “Caleb, stop it. Take me home,” Stiles states, one hand tugging relentlessly at the wrist attached to the hand down his pants while the other pushes against Caleb’s chest, trying to put some distance between them.

His attempts are again futile, however. Instead of deterring the older man, Stiles’ actions just seem to egg him on. The split second of relief when Caleb removes his hand from Stiles’ jeans is quickly shoved aside as Caleb starts trying to dislodge Stiles’ clothing.

Stiles is nothing if not a Sheriff’s son, though. He manages to get a grip on one of Caleb’s hands, pushing it forcefully down towards his forearm, bending his wrist enough to have Caleb growling in pain. He’s so focused on keeping his hold and applying pressure that he doesn’t see the blow to the cheek coming. It catches his by surprise, giving Caleb enough of an opportunity to yank his hand back before grabbing the front of Stiles’ shirt and slamming him back hard against the passenger side window. Stiles’ head cracks painfully against the glass, giving him pause for a moment, stunned.

He can hear the rip of fabric, which has him struggling to focus again. He’s practically on his back in the passenger side seat now, Caleb hovering over him. It feels like Caleb’s hands are everywhere. Stiles’ shirt has been pushed up to his armpits, his jeans are still open but are now yanked down a bit. Thankfully, they, along with his boxer-briefs, are still on. Just as Stiles is mentally pulling himself together enough to start to fight back again, his arms are pressed up above his head, one of Caleb’s hands pinning his wrists above him.

“Don’t!” Stiles snaps, thrashing and bucking under the weight of the larger frame. When Caleb reaches down to start undoing his own jeans, Stiles goes wild with panic.

_Oh God, I’m_ such _an idiot! Oh god!_

Then there’s a loud crashing noise, glass flying all over him before he’s jostled and hit. Then nothing.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, folks! As promised, here's the rest of the story! Thank you all so much for the warm welcome into the fandom! Teen Wolf is the best!
> 
> If you enjoyed my writing, I'm offering it up for auction! See details in the end notes!

_What the hell?_

Stiles sits frozen for a second, unable to process that he’s now alone in the truck.

His pulse is pounding loudly in his ears, his breathing nothing more than quick, shallow pants as he tries to piece together what happened. He glances quickly at the front windshield, which is still intact, before tilting his head back to look up at the passenger side window. There are now only fragmented shards left around the window frame. Well, that’s definitely where the glass came from then, and probably where Caleb exited. But who would’ve pulled him from the truck? At this point, if Stiles is honest with himself, he doesn’t even _care_. He’s just thankful for the help.

Quickly, he checks himself over to ensure there are no major injuries. His cheek is still stinging form where Caleb had hit him earlier, but now he tastes blood in his mouth, probably from a knee or a foot as Caleb was pulled from the vehicle. He hurriedly runs his hands over his head and his chest, brushing away slivers of glass as he checks for open wounds. Luckily, he finds none.

As the thumping in Stiles’ ears starts to fade slightly, he’s able to pick up the sounds of some sort of altercation happening outside. Sitting up jerkily, Stiles turns and reaches for the door handle, only to find the door locked. Instantly, he has an overwhelming _need_ to get out of the truck, to break free of the confines of this cage. His hands are trembling, fingers shaking so badly from fear and adrenaline that he has to fight with the lock for several seconds. Cursing quietly, his desperation climbs, panic and frustration rising from his inability to _get out_!

A sob of relief escapes him as his fingers finally obey enough release the lock. Fumbling, he opens the door only to spill out onto the gravel below, his legs giving out beneath him. His whole body is shuddering uncontrollably. The shock of the whole scenario is making him clumsier than usual.

Stiles digs his fingers into the dirt, grateful to feel something real, grounded, outside of the truck. He lets out another sob of relief as the sounds of growling and shouting penetrate his mind again.

Looking up, Stiles is horrified to find Derek standing over Caleb’s fallen form, delivering blow after blow. Caleb is shouting with each hit, curled into the fetal position to try and protect himself. Stiles only has one thought flow through his mind: Derek’s going to kill Caleb.

Pushing up off the ground, Stiles scrambles to get his feet under him, stumbling several times as he rushes over to the pair, spitting up a cloud of dust and gravel behind him. Reaching forward, he practically falls on to Derek, attempting to grab his bicep as the Alpha pulls back for another hit. Fortunately, Derek can easily hold both their weight.

“Derek, wait!” Stiles shouts, trying to right himself and pull Derek away at the same time. But when Derek rounds on _Stiles_ , full-on beta form, eyes blood red and a look of fury on him that Stiles hasn’t seen in … well … maybe ever, Stiles stumbles back, falling onto his butt. He holds up his hands in a placating gesture, immediately turning his head and averting his eyes in submission. Regardless of Derek being practically feral, Stiles needs to get his point across. This needs to stop before it goes any farther, before Caleb’s mortally hurt. “Derek,” Stiles tries again, risking a couple quick glances up through his lashes. “That’s enough,” Stiles croaks weakly, voice breaking.

There’s a low growl emanating from deep in Derek’s chest. His eyes remain on Stiles for a moment, chest rising and falling with heavy breathes, before looking back to Caleb, still huddled into a ball on the ground. For several painfully tense moments, Stiles isn’t sure whether or not Derek will back off. Just as Stiles is reaching forward towards the Alpha again, Derek finally relents, taking a few steps back towards Stiles, delivering a kick to Caleb’s legs during his retreat.

Caleb doesn’t move for a beat, leading Stiles to believe the worst. Maybe Derek had already gone too far. If he used his werewolf strength behind those blows, Caleb could have broken bones, ruptured internal organs, even a cracked skull for god’s sake! Stiles runs a shaking hand through his hair, desperately wondering how and when this got so out of control. He was going to be an accessory to murder!!!

“The _fuck,_ man!” Caleb shouts, finally uncurling himself with a groan. Stiles sighs, letting his hand flop back down to his side. It takes a few attempts, but Caleb stands up, unsteadily mind you, but he’s upright again. “I’ll have you arrested for this!” Caleb spits, wiping blood from his mouth.

By the looks of it, Caleb’s injuries are now worse than Stiles’. Bruises are already starting to form, and there’s more than one split gash on his face. The rest of his body is probably no better off. But at least he’s coherent, and apparently no worse than severely roughed up. No murder. Thank God.

A chuckle, an honest-to-god chuckle comes out of Derek. Now, Stiles is the king of humour, but he isn’t finding this particularly funny. Stiles looks to the Alpha, eyes wide. Luckily, Derek’s eyes and features are back to normal.

“No, you won’t,” Derek chides. “Do you even know who his dad is?” Derek asks incredulously.

Stiles swallows. No, no he had purposefully left that part out.

“Derek,” Stiles interjects weakly, his throat constricting tightly at the thought of his dad.

Oh god, his _dad_. His dad is going to _kill_ him. Especially since Stiles hadn’t even mentioned he was _dating_! Dating a _guy_. A guy in _college._

“I mean,” Derek continues, completely ignoring Stiles, “to physically and sexually assault the _Sheriff’s_ underage son? He’s going to make me look like a picnic.” The smugness in Derek’s tone has Stiles sputtering.

“Derek,” Stiles tries again, a little stronger this time, shame flaming his cheeks.      

Caleb’s eyes shoot from Derek to Stiles, shock and betrayal flitting across his features.

“Don’t look at him,” Derek’s snaps, repositioning himself between the two, blocking Stiles from Caleb’s view. “Don’t look at him, don’t talk to him, don’t touch him. After today, if you see him walking down the street, turn around and walk the other way. Because if I _ever,”_ Derek growls, taking a step towards Caleb once more, grabbing a fist full of the front of his shirt and yanking him forward, “get the impression you’ve attempted any contact with him, I’ll castrate you myself.”

“Derek!” Stiles cries, affronted.

Whoa! Okay! That’s enough, show’s over. This whole experience is mortifying enough with Derek having to come to his rescue. He doesn’t need the added humiliation of Derek verbally defending of his honour as well.

Fisting the back of Derek’s pant leg, Stiles tries to pull the Alpha away.

“Let’s just go,” Stiles whispers.

Derek doesn’t budge, just keeps glaring at Caleb.

“If I were you, I would go back to where you came from, and never return. Now get out of here,” Derek spits, shoving Caleb backwards.

Fortunately, Caleb doesn’t have to be told twice. Without so much as a fleeting glance, he beelines for his truck. Relief floods Stiles that the altercation is now over, but there’s a twinge of something – embarrassment, self-pity maybe – from being dismissed by his date so easily.

As the engine of the truck roars to life, Stiles flinches, but doesn’t bother getting up from the dirt. Derek’s continued to place himself between Caleb and Stiles the whole time, now standing solidly between Stiles and the truck.

“I’d look at replacing that passenger window,” Derek calls over the noise. “Looks like you had a run in with some wildlife.”

If Caleb replies, Stiles doesn’t hear it. Within seconds, the truck’s heading back down the dirt road towards town. Stiles takes a deep, calming breath. He can feel himself still trembling, but just having Caleb out of the vicinity has him deflating. He feels exhaustion quickly creeping up on him.

“What the hell were you thinking?” Derek admonishes none-too-lightly as they watch the tail lights of Caleb’s truck fade around a corner. Stiles is startled by the venom in the words.

Opening his mouth to respond, Stiles finds himself snapping it shut again as his cheeks redden. Looking back, yeah it was stupid to come up here with a guy he barely knew. But he’d seemed like a nice guy, and there had been no reason to _think_ that things would get so carried away.

“Or were you even thinking at all?” Derek continues when Stiles doesn’t respond. “Are you that desperate to have sex that you’ll put yourself in harm’s way?”

Stiles recoils slightly, the words hitting him like a slap to the face. He swallows thickly, his eyes burning, filling with tears as he juts his chin out defiantly. He thought he and Derek had been making strides towards friends, or something close to friends at least. It hurts to know Derek’s opinion of him is so low. Stiles isn’t desperate. He never wanted this to happen. He didn’t go out looking for sex.

“I’m not – I didn’t _ask_ for this, Derek,” Stiles replies hotly, a tear escaping, stinging as it runs across the open gash on his cheek.

“You have to be more careful,” Derek scolds, frustration bleeding through as if he’s talking to a toddler.

“I know,” Stiles says. He can clearly hear the words unspoken.

_You’re the weakest member of the pack._

“You could’ve seriously gotten hurt,” Derek continues, voice rising.

“I know,” Stiles repeats. He knows he got away lucky. It was so _stupid._

“Dammit, Stiles,” Derek shouts, fearing he isn’t getting through to the teen. “He could’ve --”

“I know!” Stiles shouts back in defense. “God, Derek, why do you even care?!!”

“Because you’re _mine_!” Derek hollers, eyes flaring red for the briefest instant.

Stiles’ brain stutters to a full-stop.

_What?_

No … wait … what?

With a huff, Derek looks away, face pinched as if he hadn’t wanted to say that out loud.

Just like that, the anger, hurt and embarrassment surging through Stiles ebbs away, leaving him feeling confused and shaken. He turns his head, gaze down, not wanting to look so openly vulnerable to the Alpha.

“Dammit,” Derek mutters, rubbing a hand across his stubble in irritation before looking at the teen sitting idly on the ground. Stiles looks so small and dejected sitting there in the dirt.

Hesitantly, Derek approaches Stiles, kneeling down in front of him. Stiles isn’t looking at him though, his eyes are dutifully trained on the ground. Cautiously, not wanting to scare or traumatize Stiles any more at this point, Derek reaches out, cupping the teen’s cheek with his hand, wiping away a tear trail.

Stiles squeezes his eyes shut, a look of pain crossing his features as more tears stream down his face. For a brief second, Derek thinks Stiles’ reaction is out of fear, or disgust. But when the teen whimpers, leaning into the warmth of Derek’s touch, Derek’s heart skips a beat in relief.

Instantly, the rest of Derek’s anger dissipates. He takes in the teenage form in front of him. Stiles' undershirt is ripped at the neck, his plaid long-sleeve shirt completely dishevelled, one shoulder bared. His jeans are still undone, dangerously low on his hips, exposing the top of his underwear. Meanwhile, his lips are red and swollen, a split bleeding on the lower one that Stiles keeps mindlessly licking at. There’s a nasty gash on his left cheekbone, and a myriad of bruises are already starting to form all the way from his forehead down to where his collarbone disappears into his shirt. Derek can’t help the low growl forming in his chest as he sees what he deems his territory marked by someone else.

“Stiles,” Derek says gently, tilting the teen’s face up in a silent request. Stiles obliges, opening his eyes. There’s confusion there, along with caution.

Derek immediately regrets verbally lashing out. His anger was misdirected. He knows it was just a reaction to his own feelings; a reaction to his fear of what could’ve happened if he hadn’t been out for a run, if no one had been here to help the most defenceless member of their pack; to Derek, the most important member of their pack.

“What do you mean _yours_?” Stiles finally whispers, eyes searching Derek’s.

Derek’s thumb rubs Stiles’ cheeks again as he tries to gather the right words. From the day he’d met Stiles, he’d always known on some level that Stiles was his mate. His wolf had wanted to make a claim on the teen for a while now. But, with Stiles being a minor, and having so much ahead of him still, Derek couldn’t put that kind of decision on the teen’s shoulders. Stiles needed time to find himself. Figure out who he was, and what he wanted in life. At least, that’s what Derek had been telling himself, until he’d seen someone else on _his_ mate. Someone else marking him. Someone else leaving their scent on him. Now, Derek’s wolf just wouldn’t have it.

“It’s hard to explain,” Derek starts slowly. The expression on Stiles face, however, states “try”. “To my wolf, to me, you’re my mate.”

Stiles frowns slightly.

“Mate?” Stiles asks quietly, his mind trying to break down the noun: match, companion, other half, spouse, lover. Which, somehow, only leads to breaking down the verb: to couple, copulate, _breed_. Blinking, Stiles stammers. Derek wants him as a companion? “But you hate me,” Stiles can’t help the words that finally spew out.

Derek eyebrows pull together.

“I don’t hate you,” he says, allowing his hand to slide from Stiles’ cheek down to his neck, squeezing gently. If he so happens to be leaving his scent on the teen at the same time, then all the better.

Stiles snorts, disbelievingly. He can feel his cheeks burning from Derek’s touch though, the intimacy of it catching him off guard.

“Despise, then. Tolerate at best,” Stiles responds, hand flailing awkwardly.

“That’s not true,” Derek tries to argue.

“You ignore me all the time! I feel like I’m gum on the bottom of your shoe. The annoying human that forced himself into your pack!”

Derek sighs in frustration. Okay, maybe Derek can see how his need to keep Stiles at a distance if he couldn’t claim him could be interpreted as ignoring. But at the time, he had been doing it for Stiles’ own good.

“I ignore you because I can’t have you – couldn’t have you,” Derek states gently.

“Couldn’t?” Leave it to the teen to pick up on that. He was smarter than his own good.

“You’re seventeen, Stiles. You have big things ahead of you. I used to think you need some time to experience what’s out there, to figure out what you want.”

“And now? What do you think now?”

Derek looks at Stiles, really looks at him, weighing the risk versus reward; with doing want he wants versus what is right. He’s known for a while now that Stiles is attracted to him. The teen is anything but subtle. Granted, Derek did have super senses on his side, being able to pick out flecks of arousal in the air anytime Stiles was around, hearing the teen’s heartbeat stutter anytime Derek got too close, the fleeting glances and looks of all out want on Stiles' face when he thought Derek wasn’t looking.

God, he was going to hell.

“I think we can figure it out together, along the way,” Derek manages to get out. “If you want, that is.”

The heat that flickers in Stiles eyes has Derek’s eyes glowing back for a moment in response.

“God yes,” Stiles finally hisses.

Derek reaches out to him, using both hands to cup Stiles’ face before pulling him closer so their foreheads are touching, breaths mingling together. His wolf is yipping and frolicking with glee at Stiles’ acceptance, urging Derek to take, mark, claim. But Derek suppresses his instincts, knowing this isn’t necessarily the best time for Stiles to be making that sort of decision.

“Take some time to think about it,” Derek says quietly.

“I don’t need to,” Stiles says quickly, shaking his head. Derek can’t hear any detection of a lie. Regardless …

“Take some time,” Derek repeats, leaning back so he can look Stiles in the eye. “Wolves, we mate for life. Once I have you, as my mate, I’ll never want to let you go. A lot has happened tonight. Just, take some time.”

Stiles relents, nodding his head once.

“Now,” Derek says, clearly switching gears, “are you hurt? Do I need to take you to the hospital?”

Stiles shakes his head, looking down at his rumpled clothing, trying to straighten it out a bit.

“No, I should be fine,” Stiles says, moving to get his feet under him so he can stand. Derek gives him a hand up.

“Thanks,” Stiles says meekly, brushing the seat of his pants, “for ... you know ... everything.” As his jeans start to slip further down his hips, Stiles grabs at them, turning away from Derek slightly so he can do them quickly back up.

“No problem,” Derek replies, letting his lingering hands fall from Stiles to try and give him some privacy, some dignity. “I’m just glad I got here before it was too late.”

Stiles winces, not wanting to think about what would’ve happened if Derek hadn’t arrived when he did.

“Come on,” Derek says, hand on Stiles’ shoulder as he starts guiding him towards one of the paths. “I’m parked not too far away.”

Stiles can't help the small smile pulling at his lips.

“So, if I’m your mate, does that mean I’ll get to drive the Camaro someday?”

Derek gives Stiles' shoulder a gentle nudge.

“Don’t press your luck.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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